


study buddy

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bets & Wagers, F/F, Fluff, lots of popcorn involved, maybe some kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and Kate sit in Kate's college apartment at Empire State University, watching the "football game of the year." Frankly, Kate just wants to cuddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	study buddy

"Oh, come _on!_ "

 

A bowl of popcorn tumbled to the ground as America Chavez sprang to her feet. It crunched beneath her boots when she marched towards the television, punching her finger at the screen.

 

"That was the _worst_ play I have seen in all of Earth-616! And you guys _invented_ football!"

 

She crossed her arms like a pouting child, watching the string of black-shirted football players retreat to their time-out circle. Their coach immediately launched into a raging pep rally, slapping their shoulder pads, banging their helmets with his fists. America sighed and walked back to the couch, where her girlfriend sat with a pile of textbooks.

 

"Huh. Didn't know you would get this worked up about a bunch of sweaty boys hugging each other," Kate said, glancing up from her laptop. “You sure you’re gay?”

 

"Oh, shuddup.”

 

The television cut to commercial break and Kate grinned, reaching over to slather a tortilla chip in salsa. This was her broke student dinner - she hadn't been to a real restaurant in three weeks. She refused to ask her father for more money; he would pay for her college education, but that was it. She didn't want his charity. She didn't even want his company, not after he'd married The Talking Barbie.

 

America, who somehow made more money than the rest of the Young Avengers combined, had bought all the food. Chips, popcorn, little corn dogs on sticks. 6-pack cans of lite beer. A full bag of fresh-popped kettle corn and a jar of spicy salsa. It burned in Kate's mouth as she looked down at the notes splayed across her lap - finance, biology, political science. Midterm study guides.

 

Oh, the joys of college.

 

“Pass me a chip,” America demanded, her eyes never wavering from the television screen. The game wasn’t even on; it was just an Aflac commercial. The obnoxious duck was doing a hula dance.

 

“Get it yourself,” Kate replied.

 

“Make it two chips. Three. And salsa, lots of salsa.”

 

“Hey, princess, get it yourself.”

 

“Pass me a corn dog.”

 

“Help me study.”

 

“No.”

 

“Then no chips or corn dogs for Miss America.”

 

“You’re a terrible girlfriend.”

 

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

 

The typical back-and-forth.

 

It was a rainy night in mid-October, a Sunday, 60-degrees, New York City. All the students outside were rushing back from the library already, holding their jackets above their heads to keep themselves dry. Some were already tipsy, hooting at their fraternity brothers on the street, while the others were watching the big game on their cracked iPhone screens. It was the Empire State University Eagles vs. the Grayburn College Jaguars. The “rivalry of the century.”

 

America had been hyped about it all week. She’d skipped her 11AM Physiology Lab just to hash out game stats with the Delta Omicron boys. She’d missed training with Captain America because the College Gameday analysts were hosting a live stream. She hadn’t studied in at least two days (not that she worried a whole lot about her Spanish Literature course. Most of the kids in there were _idiotas_ anyway.)

 

All that didn’t bother Kate. She could stand a girlfriend who missed class here and there, who liked to crush the overblown egos of college boys. Nah, that was cool with her.

 

What drove her up the wall was this: America Chavez didn’t even _like_ football. She didn’t hate it, no, but it wasn’t as if she’d grown up cheering for Tim Tebow and Payton Manning. Football fanaticism was brand new to her. New, as in “within the last week” kind of new. As in, she’d known nothing about it last Saturday, and now she knew everything. She knew the rule book, for God’s sake. She could be a referee.

 

All because she’d started a stupid, _stupid_ bet.

 

Kate had seen it coming. She’d walked into her kitchen last Saturday and found a thousand-year-old idiot sitting at her dining table. This idiot had weird slick-smooth black hair and wore horns and spoke in a velvety creep voice that Kate couldn’t stand. He grinned with teeth that were too white and smelled like wine and his name _literally_ meant mischief: Yeah. Loki.

 

Still, he was loyal(ish), and was their partner in crime-fighting (sorta, maybe) so America and Kate trusted him (a little, kinda, not really).

 

He had a bet to propose. $200 on the line, plus a free multidimensional magic recharge and a trip to JJ’s Diner ( _best waffles this side of the Mason-Dixon line – come and get ‘em!_ ). If the Eagles won, America would get a pocketful of cash, a mouthful of blueberry syrup, and a free trip to the universe of her choice (even the restricted ones). If the Jaguars won, well … Loki had his own brand of “fun” in store.

 

America agreed before Kate could even open her mouth.

 

So, here they were, a week later, watching a football game at nine o’clock in the evening while Kate tried to study for her exams. And America wouldn’t shut up. Because, as always, she wanted to win. _Bad._  

 

“Did you see that play? Did you see that holding call?!” she exclaimed. She was on her feet again, her star-spangled sneakers mashing the popcorn into the carpet.

 

“Uh huh,” Kate lied. No, she hadn’t watched the oversized men dig one another into the ground. She was reading and re-reading the definition of _aneuploidy_ in her textbook.

 

“This is insane. 4th down and ten.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“The Eagles quarterback, he’s … he’s limping. Ay, _mierda_.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

“Ten minutes left in the fourth quarter. We’re down by one goal, Katie. We can do it. The Eagles can win.”

 

“Fabulous.”

 

Watching America pace back and forth in front of the television, Kate was finding it impossible to focus on her reading. Rolling her eyes, she pulled open a bag of crumbled cookies and dangled them in the air in front of her. "Sit back down, coach," she ordered. "The Scarlet Mom made snickerdoodles."

 

"This is ridiculous," America muttered. "I'm about to fly there and block for the QB myself. I’m stronger than all of them, anyway."

 

"America."

 

"How long of a trip do you think it is from here to Grayburn? I don't want to miss the next play."

 

"America."

 

"I wonder how lenient the refs are about players throwing punches."

 

"HEY!" Kate snapped. "Chavez! You have Wanda Maximoff's world famous cookies and a gorgeous girlfriend, and you are ignoring both of them!"

 

Having made her case, she settled angrily into her nest of chip crumbs and looseleaf homework assignments, staring her girlfriend down from across the room. She was tired, she was stressed, she was worried about leaving Clint alone in Brooklyn for more than a few days …. A wild football game was not what she needed. She needed some actual food. She needed a sure-fire A+ on her next test. She needed more than six hours of sleep.

 

And … (dare she say it) … she needed to cuddle. Like, power cuddling. The worst, most intense kind of cuddling. Where the need just overtakes you and you are consumed by it. The disgusting kind of cuddling. The gross, awful, horrible cuddling that is so _relationship-y_ it makes you gag.

 

Kate needed it. She needed it _bad_.

 

And, for once, America could see it.

 

“Kate, you know I hate—“

 

“Nope. No excuses.”

 

“Do I really have to—?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But the—“

 

“You ever heard of a little thing called compromise? That’s what you’re doing right now. So do it.”

 

America groaned and walked forward, snatching the remote off the sidetable and pressing “mute.” She pushed the kettle corn and the corn dogs off the desk. She pressed Kate’s papers into stacks and dropped them onto the carpet. Then she climbed onto the couch and curled up next to her girlfriend, sighing as she extended her arm.

 

“C’mere, beautiful,” she muttered as she pressed her lips into Kate’s hair. “I guess I signed on for this when I agreed to date you.”

 

“Sure did,” Kate replied.

 

“Is this gonna be a regular thing?”

 

“You betcha.”

 

America grinned, amused in spite of herself, and she gently took Kate’s chin in her hand. “Look at me, okay?” she said. “You’re doing fine. So you have a lot on your plate. You can handle it. You are one tough _chica_.”

 

“I know I can. I’m awesome. But this studying thing sucks.”

 

“Yeah. I know. But, uh … “ America took a deep breath. “I’m here for you, kay? I love you. Just so you know.”

 

Kate raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, can you say that again? I might have missed it.”

 

America rolled her eyes. “I love you.”

 

“One more time, for good measure.”

 

“No. I take it back. You’re the worst.”

 

Kate cackled and rolled on top of America, crushing her into the leather cushions, tickling her sides and yelping when America bucked her off. The two of them tumbled to the floor, spilling their beer cans as they clambered over one another, fighting for dominance, laughing and slinging jokes. Then there were lips, and there was hair, and they were kissing on the floor of their cheap college apartment, the beer staining their jeans and their tennis shoes. They could taste the salsa on one another’s tongues, the sweat and the fear and the excitement. Their hands found each other in the chaos, their wrestling arms and legs winding and unwinding like clockwork. They grinned in between kisses, gentle and quick and _necessary_.

 

After what felt like an hour, Kate took one sideways glance at the television, and burst out laughing.

 

“What?” America gasped, pulling away from her girlfriend’s lips.

 

“The Eagles,” Kate whispered, unable to speak through her snickering. “They won the game. They won the stupid futzing football game.”

 

“…Are you serious?”

 

“You won the bet, Miss America. Loki owes you waffles.”

 

“And …  a trip to anywhere.”

 

“Wait.” Kate sat up, pulling herself upright onto the couch. “Anywhere. As in, anywhere, anywhere? Like, we could go to Woodstock in the Music Dimension?”

 

“Anywhere you want, princess. It’s yours.”

 

“Oh. Oh, oh, _oh_. I’m dreaming. This is Christmas.” Kate scrambled to her feet, running to her room to start sorting through records. “Who would we even see first?!” she yelled, as she started tossing vinyls into the hallway.

 

“Janis Joplin. Duh,” America replied.

 

Kate stuck her head out from behind the bedroom door, and beamed at her girlfriend. “I knew I made the right choice when I decided to date you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love you too.”

 

So, for the rest of the night, while the Eagles celebrated their “Rivalry of the Century” 31st Championship win, America and Kate listened to “I Love Rock ‘N Roll” and ate Wanda Maximoff’s famous snickerdoodles, testing each one for the right amount of cinnamon. They lazed about on the couch and co-studied for biology together, sneaking kisses whenever they got the answers right. They daydreamed about Loki’s face when he found out he lost. And then they fell asleep together, their mouths hanging open and their hands intertwined.

 

And it was adorable. And it was gross.

 

And it was absolutely, completely _necessary_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
